Mongoose
by mimeo
Summary: This was written for the Dreamwidth Hannibal kink meme in 2013. Prompt: ""The mongoose emits a high-pitched noise, commonly known as giggling, when it mates. Giggling is also heard during courtship" Basically I just want Will giggling when he has sex with Hannibal."


This was written for the Dreamwidth Hannibal kink meme in 2013.

Prompt: ""The mongoose emits a high-pitched noise, commonly known as giggling, when it mates. Giggling is also heard during courtship" Basically I just want Will giggling when he has sex with Hannibal."

It's a snicker at first but it raises in pitch, too high and squeaking to be labeled a laugh. His eyes are shut tight enough to create crow's feet wrinkles on the sides and he's blushing redder than wine, shoulders raised and pressed tight against his neck. It is a close relative of the sad close-mouthed smile that always flits across his face when he's trying to hold back tears in the presence of another person, but this is not sadness nor is it panic. It is the product of his anxiety and his nerves, coupled with his willingness. So overwhelmed by the turn of events but so far from removed from either option of "fight or flight" that Will has no idea what to do.

Hannibal pauses once he identifies the sound and leans back, hands falling to his sides and face looking more stoic than usual. He's straddling Will on the chaise lounge in his Baltimore office, one of their sessions having taken an interesting turn but getting no farther than a few undone buttons. Will had been predictably petrified yet pliable - until, that is, their lips finally brushed.

"Do you find this absurd?" Hannibal's voice is level and expressionless, analytical, as if they're still doing therapy.

Will turns sober immediately, mortified at the prospect of having offended Hannibal, the only person who's dared to show him any affection in months. His jaw squares and he lets out a meek "no."

"Do you want to proceed?"

"Yes, yes of course, I-" He falls silent and straightens his back, sniffles and looks Hannibal in the eye intently. Then it returns in full force. A snort that starts in his throat, distorts his features back into a repressed smile, a squiggled line, a bitten lip, lights up his eyes again, until it splits his lips and turns back into a giggle. Two sets of parentheses on either side of his face, one coming down from the sides of his nose and one coming up from his chin, bracket his brilliant smile. A smile seldom seen by anyone in his life. It's almost contagious, Hannibal thinks, the tiniest of smirks tugging at his lips as he looks down at the other man. He's still perplexed, but he'll take Will's word for it. Nervous laughs are not all that uncommon - he has patients that have to end their every sentence, every revelation of their past torment or current anxieties, with a forced staccato chuckle to distance themselves from the gravity of the horror - but none have been this prominent or debilitating. He's not complaining now, as the endearing aspects of Will's giggles _far_ outnumber any offensive ones.

Not all that eager to silence the charming noises with his lips again, Hannibal leans down and leaves slow, languid, wet kisses along Will's neck, feeling his skin jump and his throat vibrate with more poorly-suppressed giggles. Will's out of breath now, face still red, chest feeling tight, trying to calm down just long enough to take a few gasping breaths before the laughter tumbles out of him again. Absurd might've been the right word for this after all, Will thinks, or maybe he's truly _happy._ He can't really tell, and he doesn't really want to. Uncertainty has been his default state for months and now he just wants something, anything to hold on to. He starts to feel lightheaded and he knows that the man on top of him is the only anchor that could pull him back down to earth.

Hands have crept under his shirt now, untucked it and nearly unbuttoned it, and Hannibal's fingertips roam over his body, over his abdomen tightening with more gasps for air that interrupt his laughter like ellipses. Somehow, through all the snickering and ensuing embarrassment, Will's been hard from the start. And now he feels a twin to that hardness pressing up against him. He composes himself long enough to wriggle out of his trousers like an eager teenager and watch Hannibal do away with his own and descend lower. He has no idea what to do with his hands - he wouldn't dare think of displacing a hair on Hannibal's head - so they remain on his own chest, just under his neck, fingers curled. A single moan interrupts Will's inappropriate series of sounds when Hannibal teases him, taking his cock in his mouth and sliding up and down just once before fishing out a suspiciously-handy condom and lube from beneath the chaise lounge.

Will gulps and quiets down for once, but when Hannibal looks up there is no fear in Will's eyes, only bated anticipation. Hannibal presses one hand flat against Will's stomach to steady him, the other slowly working to stretch him. Will's eyes fall shut and he hisses through his teeth, balling his fists. When the fingers inside him are replaced with something more substantial, his body arches up, pressing against Hannibal's palm, and the pleasure and pain are so overwhelming that he can't think straight or formulate _any_ sort of sound. The thrusts are still tentative, measured, shallow. But then Hannibal leans closer and starts murmuring in his ear, telling him how good he feels, asking him if he likes it - then, after receiving no response, _commanding_ him to say he likes it.

But, well, Will's positively terrible at dirty talk. Pillow talk. Hell, any other variation of talk. So whenever there's the slightest pause in the action or they catch each other's gaze, it starts all over again. If he let himself go, it would be a full-on head-thrown-back cackling outburst - but, bless him, the boy's trying, trying to hold it in until it's only a comical squeaking trill better suited to a tiny rodent. And it's still audible even with Hannibal's hand clamped over his mouth the next moment. Hannibal's patience wears down and he concludes that this position is not ideal.

"Shush now, Will." He's curt as he grabs him by a fistful of hair, withdraws and stands, dragging a very confused and vulnerable Will across the room and to the desk. There's a flurry of movement and tripping over clothes and the lamp and papers fall to the floor as Will's bare chest is pinned against the smooth wooden surface, arms held behind his back. His legs are nudged apart and Hannibal slides back in with little effort.

He's not laughing now, as a firm arm around his chest and neck - hand over his mouth again - holds him up so that his back is pressed to Hannibal's chest and his palms are flat against the desk to support himself, not trusting his weak knees to do the job. His racing thoughts are soon fucked out of him.

Hannibal pounds into him until Will's down against the desk again, pressing his forehead to the surface with a permanently-agape mouth letting out little more than breathless moans and the occasional whine of discomfort. When skilled fingers finally reach around to tend to his cock, Will finds the strength to push himself up again, closing his eyes, throwing his head back and biting his lip in a poor attempt to hide the smile on his face. His hips rock back now, having fought the uphill battle through the pain and now enjoying the easy, downhill rolls of pleasure through his body. Hannibal's thrusts grow more erratic, faster paced, as do his strokes of Will's shaft. His free hand is leaving red streaks across Will's chest as he claws desperately at the flesh, and once Will's coated the front of the desk with his orgasm Hannibal allows himself to follow. The room is deafeningly quiet.

Will's limp and silent for what seems like five minutes, his cheek pressed to the desk, his bare chest sticky with sweat. He is waiting for the room to stop spinning, though he is vaguely aware of Hannibal getting dressed and walking back over to sit in the desk chair in front of his eyes, running a hand through his damp hair soothingly.

The twinge of anxiety is there. Nagging. Gnawing. He doesn't want to think about words or ramifications right now but Will can feel the tidal wave of _awkward_ that is about to crash over the two men in T-minus five seconds. Yet when he finally catches his breath and looks up at Hannibal, that pesky thing called eye contact happens and the giggle fit returns in full raucous force. This time Hannibal's smirk blooms into a proper smile in return.


End file.
